


Pops Picks A Fight

by author203



Series: Every Anime Has A Beach Episode [5]
Category: Lupin III
Genre: F/M, Little plot, Love, Married Life, One Shot, Romance, Short One Shot, Sweet, character driven, character driven is code for nothing happens, don't count them lol, how many times did i use the word love, mostly zenigata/mentions of other characters, nothing happens, pops is my second favorite, short and sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:20:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26883532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/author203/pseuds/author203
Summary: An episode of Zenigata's married life.
Relationships: Zenigata Kouichi/Original Character(s), Zenigata Kouichi/Reader, Zenigata Kouichi/You
Series: Every Anime Has A Beach Episode [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1961443
Comments: 4
Kudos: 18





	Pops Picks A Fight

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place some years after Obligatory Beach Episode. Probably not necessary to read that to enjoy, but details/references will make more sense.
> 
> Major Character Death sort of - it already happened in the other story.
> 
> Also, romance so reader discretion advised. (Mostly implied.)

**Pops Picks A Fight**

She had been dusting the photos and knickknacks on the mantle piece when she heard his key in the back door. Koichi was home. She could hear him, shrugging out of his coat, shuffling out of his shoes, muttering to himself in Japanese. She could imagine him hanging his suit coat and hat on the tree in the hall, rolling up his sleeves. He would call to her soon.

She took off the battered fedora that had once belonged to a man she secretly considered the love of her life. A man she had been with, but not been married to. She still considered that a mistake, but could not regret it. Not the being with him part; the mistake was doing so out of wedlock. Sometimes, when she was home alone, or writing, or went to sit by the roses in her garden, and no one was around, she would wear it. It still smelled faintly of him, even after all this time. Sometimes, when she was alone, she would just hold it close to her face and imagine a sea breeze sifting through his hair, that sly half-grin as he watched her climb out of the pool from the corner of his eye.

That had been a wonderful time – when she had known him. But that was a different time; all in the past now.

She was a wife again. And her (second) husband was home now.

She carefully replaced the hat next to the photo of its former owner.

She hadn't been quick enough. He had seen her do it.

“Why do you keep that thing?”

“Don't start that again.”

He looked at her, looked down, and went to sit in what had been her first husband's favorite chair. It was his chair now, and exhausted he leaned back in it, propped one foot up on the opposite knee.

Koichi had made a lot of compromises in this marriage – living in a house she had shared with her first husband, in a country not his own. Speaking a language that was not his first. He had even quit smoking, and cut back considerably on his drinking.

She had made sacrifices too. She had a passport now. And sometimes went with him to places she had only read about before. She much preferred to stay home; travel was never her favorite thing, but gallivanting around the globe meant she could be in his presence, and that was what mattered. She had even tried to learn Japanese. She had really tried hard at that, but it never took. She did remember a few words though; like love and now and need and harder. Enough to keep things interesting.

The mantle piece was crowded.

There was a photo of her first husband holding a trophy – he had died of cancer she had told him. So unexpected. There was photo of her in her second wedding gown. There was a slight age difference between them. Not enough to matter, but enough for people to notice and question it. They usually laughed it off - saying she kept him young and he kept her out of trouble. There was one of both of them at the reception – his bow tie loose, a glass raised to make a toast. His sideburns had been a little less gray then. Lupin had even sent a gift – it was some stolen something the ICPO had been trying to track down for a while, and bringing it in to headquarters had lifted a lot of eyebrows, but mostly everyone was just relieved the treasure had been recovered.

There was a tiny metal replica of the Eiffel tower from their honeymoon. And next to that sat a tiny plastic version of Mt. Fuji, a souvenir from a trip to his homeland to meet his daughter. It had been a little awkward at first – and she had never seen herself as a mother or even a step-mother. But his daughter was grown with her own life, and she saw her maybe twice a year at the very most. They eventually found some common ground in the inspector they both loved in different ways. His daughter had him translate that he had been a good father when she was young, and he was sure to be a good husband. Koichi had blushed at the kind words and both women had giggled a bit, laughter having no language barrier.

Pictures of them together, at Christmas, on a beach, in the mountains, on horseback or camels, on a local park bench, even some selfies of them in the living room or kitchen she had framed.

And mixed in with all of it, the many reminders of her current life, and the few of her past, was a photo of Daisuke Jigen on a pier, holding a fishing pole, one hand on his hat. The hat that now sat next to his photo.

She stood by the fireplace and looked at her current husband. It was the second marriage for both of them, and they had each learned much from their previous relationships.

He looked – defeated would be a good word for it. Grappling for the right description reminded her of Daisuke. She could see him sitting under the beach umbrella with one of his crosswords clear as day. She sometimes went weeks or even months without thinking of him now, but when she was reminded, she saw him everywhere and in everything. She made a conscious effort to put his memory aside and instead focus her attention on the man in front of her.

“How was your day?”

“I don't want to talk about it. If you have to keep that thing, can you at least not have it on display?”

There had been a time early in their marriage when that would have hurt her deeply, and she would have cried. But she knew – she had learned - that it wasn't about her. It wasn't about the hat or the man who used to wear it. It was never about what it was about. It was always something else. Lupin had escaped, or his boss had chewed him out for letting it happen, or it was something else. One time Yata had been hurt in the line of duty, and they nearly divorced over it. But eventually, she came to understand that Koichi was under an enormous amount of stress and sometimes – though he tried very hard to not let it happen – some of it spilled over onto her.

Overall, he was a good husband. He always remembered her birthday, their anniversary. He gave extra consideration to spring – when it had happened – and to winter – when he had brought her the news. He tried to plan little surprise trips or special things – symphony tickets or a night of fine dining and dancing – to distract her from things that were quite painful for her to remember. Sometimes he came home with flowers for no other reason than he had seen them and thought of her. And the effort he went to made her love him even more. Not in the same way, of course. Love is an infinite, ever-changing thing that fills the space around it, no matter what shape that space takes. Just because her love for him was different from her love for her first husband, or for Daisuke, did not make it any less real.

He loved her too, and she knew it.

“Koichi. It's been there since you brought it to me. Why does it bother you now?”

He sighed and looked at her. The curve of her cheek, her full lips. She was beautiful, and he loved her, but she was so much more to him than a pretty face. He loved her with everything he had, but he thought maybe she just couldn't do the same. “You talk in your sleep. Did you know that?”

She did dream about him – the man in the fedora. She knew that with certainty, though she could rarely remember what the dream had been about. Just that he was in it, and she was happy to see him. Sometimes he wore his hat; sometimes he was without it. Sometimes he came in his suit, clean-shaven except for his beard, looking sharp. Other times he appeared in his “beach disguise,” his cheeks rough with 5 o'clock shadow. She had no choice or control over when he came to her in the night, but when he did, she relished it, hoped it would last – until Koichi would snore or turn over and wake her. And the dream would vanish and he would be gone. And then she would remember again that he was gone – really gone. He was in an unmarked grave somewhere in Germany and she would never she him again, for sure in this life, and probably not in her next. She believed in the Savior and the life everlasting. She had told Daisuke the story of the thief on the cross, and how redemption could be found even in one's final moments. She hoped it had been enough.

Just the thought of him alone in such a cold place would make her want to cry all over again – like the wound was still fresh, like it had just happened, or Koichi had just told her about it. But she had been through a lot in her life, was no stranger to pain, and knew how to carry it, and carry it well.

She was a little surprised to learn she talked in her sleep though. “How could I know that if I'm asleep when it happens?”

He blinked at her, put his foot down so that they were both on the floor, didn't say anything.

She waited a moment before saying, “What do I say?” She knew – or could take a wild guess.

“You talk about him. You call to him.”

After all these years and everything they had shared, she still had a hard time believing it. “You're jealous of a dead man.” It was not a question. He had called for Fujiko and Lupin in his sleep before and she had never been jealous. Well, not of Lupin, but she had seen pictures of Fujiko, and she was maybe a tiny bit if she wanted to be completely truthful.

She thought about the time she had complimented Koichi's aftershave, saying she loved the scent, Daisuke had worn the same. He found a new one the next week, and never wore the old one again. She thought about how they would never vacation on Hatteras. They would go to the beach, but a different one, somewhere in a different state, or even a different country.

“I'm afraid,” he said so quietly she almost didn't hear him.

“Of?” she prompted.

“I'm afraid you don't love me as much,” he confessed.

“Koichi, we're married. I wouldn't have done that if I didn't love you.” She came forward, held out a hand to him, and when he took it – after only a slight hesitation – she pulled him out of the chair and into her arms.

She hugged him, her face against his chest. He was taller than Daisuke had been, broader, stronger, more solid.

He looked down at her. She was such a little wisp of a thing, and he felt she deserved so much better than he could give. How had he been so blessed to find her and woo her and somehow been able to keep her.

Every aspect of his life was centered on his career – even her. They would never have met if it hadn't been for – Well. The important thing was that they _had_ met and they were together now.

He hugged her back and they stood there in the living room a while, clinging to each other, while the world continued to spin uncaring around them.

After a while she said, “What's this really about?”

He sighed. He hated to be vulnerable, but was grateful she was a soft place to land. Lupin was not his only case and in his line of work he had born witness to gruesome things or their aftermath. He still had nightmares sometimes. When that happened, she would scoot close, pull his arm around her, and whisper his name until he jerked awake, and she would say calmly, quietly, that he had been dreaming. It was ok. She was here. He was safe.

If he could tell anyone in the world, he could tell her.

“They're forcing my retirement.” Saying it out loud made it more real somehow. Before – before he could think it was a mistake. Someone, somewhere, in accounting or human resources, had checked the wrong box next to the wrong name on some pension report. But telling her made it irrefutable.

She waited. She knew how hard it was for him to talk about how he felt about things. If she was patient, if she held out just a little longer, he would fill in the silence with his deep voice and stilted accent that she had come to cherish a bit more each time she heard it.

“They said I was getting too old for it. No results. Lupin keeps escaping – somehow they think maybe I've let him go or helped with his crimes. You can't even respect a worthy opponent any more without people thinking you're in cahoots.”

She nodded against his chest. It was cruel the way he had given his life in pursuit of justice and got tossed aside for the next young hotshot in line to take his place. “What did Yata say about it?”

“I haven't seen him. He's being promoted is all I know.”

“Good for him.”

“Yes,” he shrugged. Yata was a good man, and deserved to advance in his career.

She looked up, gripped his necktie, and pulled his face down to meet hers. She kissed him – soundly – and she hoped she left no room for doubt. He _was_ her husband and she _did_ love him.

Just not in the same way.

“This could be a good thing,” she ventured. His hands were running from her shoulders to her elbows and back again.

“How so?”

“Well, for one thing – I like having you around. If you're retired, you'll be here with me.”

“True.”

“And for another,” she said as she started to move her fingers through his closed cropped hair, trailing down his sideburns, and along his cheek. “If you're retired, you can come to my book signing next month.”

He had been going to miss that. There was a conference in Paris, but now... Now he was free to attend the signing, and that sounded good to him. He loved seeing her bask in her triumph – liked meeting the fans of her work.

“Also true,” he allowed.

“And -” her hand moved across his chest, and then a little lower.

“And?”

“And if you're retired, and you are here, you can be my muse.”

“Oh.”

“I need some inspiration, Koichi.”

“Like this?” he whispered, as he gave a chaste peck on the forehead.

“No. Not like that. Romance readers want more than that.”

“Oh. Then like this, maybe?” He tipped her head back slightly and kissed her again – gently, but with authority.

“Yes, that's better.”

“Or maybe something like this?” He scooped her up, an arm under her knees, and one around her shoulders, and she struggled courageously to stay here in this moment, and not think of the time she had twisted her ankle on the beach in Buxton. Or what had come after.

“Maybe. I think my next work is going to be a little more than PG-13.”

“Oh. And the leading man? What's he like?”

“Oh, I'd describe him as tall, handsome, a man of honor. One of justice. A hero. Broad-shouldered. Strong jaw. Salt and pepper sideburns. Distinguished.”

“Sounds familiar.”

“Does it?”

“And what would he do next? After sweeping the heroine off her feet?”

She suggested the hero would take his lady upstairs and have his way. She told him how the scene should play out and he was happy to oblige.

She smiled and hugged his neck, and was so thankful for him, and the broken path that had led to him. She was thankful for all the men she had had in her life, but especially for the one that now carried her toward the stairs.

“Hurry now.”

“What's the rush?” he laughed. She was glad to see him laugh again. “We've got the whole night. I don't have to work tomorrow. I'm retired now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :) 
> 
> Comments welcome.


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